The Cage (Book 2)

Note-dropping

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Mature content warning.

Note-dropping

As I was getting my towel and toothbrush from the sink, I felt a pair of eyes on my back. A chill of alarm skittered down my spine instantaneously. Gasping, I whirled around to face the cell door, wielding my toothbrush like a knife and my towel like a shield.

And there he was, the cloaked stranger who'd given me the note.

Even though I couldn't see his eyes, I felt him staring right at me, borrowing into me like hot charcoal on skin. I stared at where his eyes would be, feeling unnerved. Like before, his face was completely concealed in shadows by his hoodie.

"You-"

He tossed another note into the cell and then disappeared from my sight.

"Hey, you! Wait!"

By the time the door slid open for me and I stepped out onto the catwalk, he was gone. I wasn't even sure which direction he'd taken. I stared down the catwalks, all empty. There wasn't even the sound of falling footsteps, as if he were a ghost who'd come to chill me to the soul. If it weren't for the crumpled note lying on the dirty floor of my cell, I would have thought my brain was making it up.

In a cell nearby, someone coughed. Or maybe farted; I couldn't be sure. It was still early; the inmates wouldn't be waking for another hour or so.

"Damn it!"

Heart still racing, I rushed back into the cell and came to a stop in front of the crumpled note. I stared at it, weighing my next course of action.

I was being targeted or used. Only a fool would not have realized it by now. Most likely it was the latter. Or perhaps even both. Someone was using me to get to Schneider, and whoever it was probably meant to kill two birds with one stone like the greedy, diabolical fucker they were, whoever they were. I'd already jeopardized or at the very least done some considerable damage to Schneider's reputation and position as King of the Prison. And now they were back to get me to finish the job most likely.

I ought to toss the thing right out of my cell and forget it even existed. No, I really should. Indeed, after the doubt and suspicion the bastard had planted in my heart against Schneider, it would be wisest that I never even glanced at the contents of the note lest I was driven to do something stupid again.

Once, I had a willpower of steel. In the world of law, I had to be confident and sure if I was to advise clients on their problems, but since coming here, I haven't had much confidence lately. Given all I'd been through, it was understandable, but I still couldn't find it in me to excuse my lack of conviction.

Throw it away, the good ol' voice of reasons said in my head.

And like the idiotic fool I was, I ignored the voice of reason and picked up the note.

****

I showered and dressed as quickly as humanly possible. Why the haste? After the note-dropping incident, the feeling that I was constantly being watched was one I could not dismiss no matter how hard I tried. In the last hour, I developed a habit of peeking over my shoulder, half expecting a hooded figure to be standing behind me, or peering at me from behind a corner or the bars of a cell.

It was the definition of nerve-wracking. It was dreadful. And it was damn too early in the morning for such bullshit.

As I walked back to my cell, I looked over my shoulder for the tenth time, and as the nine times before, I didn't see anyone-

I bumped into someone and stumbled.

Highly alert, practically as taut as a drawn bowstring, I growled, "Watch where you're going!"

"Oh...! Oh, I'm sorry! I d-didn't mean t-to!"

I blinked, surprised. In front of me stood a scrawny man with wide, bespectacled eyes quivering in his prisoner shoes. He was smaller and much shorter than I was, about five feet two, so I found myself looking down into a pair of pale blue eyes that regarded me with immense fear. He reeked of fear; there was so much emanating from him that there was no way little ol' me was the main cause of it. And someone seemed to have messed him up a bit if the cracked glass of his wire frame glass was any indication.

He looked like he was about to drop dead right where he stood.

I instantly regretted the way I reacted. I did not like being the source of anyone's fear and anxiety. "D-Don't worry about it." I rushed to say, taking a step back to show that I meant him no harm. But it was too late.

Looking unconvinced, he said nothing and instead hurriedly rushed past me.

I looked down and saw that he'd dropped the book he'd been carrying. I quickly bent down to pick it up and straightened with it in hand. "Hey! You forgot your-" But he was already gone.

Fuck, I seriously needed to calm down. I was scaring people, which only made me feel worse.

Sighing dejectedly, I looked down at the book and read its title. It was a used, somewhat old copy of Watership Down by Richard Adams. 

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